‘Oh, we’ve finished,’ Matron said airily. ‘He’s all yours.’
He chuckled, a deep, rich sound that for some reason sent a shiver down her spine. ‘At your service,’ he said with a little bow of his head, and the grin that accompanied it made her heart do something crazy and stupid and not entirely normal. ‘What did you want me for?’
She wasn’t sure any longer. Her body seemed to have a hidden agenda all its own. She swallowed. ‘New baby needs a check—I wonder if you’d do the honours.’
‘Sure. Lead the way.’
She did, taking him back down the corridor towards the GP unit, aware with every step of his presence at her side.
‘Here we are, female infant of Angela Grigson, born at eight-thirty this morning.’
‘So, little baby Grigson is the first of the New Year?’
‘Yes. It’s a small unit, so it’s amazing we’ve had one on New Year’s Day. Sometimes it’s days before we get a baby—last year it was the ninth of January.’
‘Normal vaginal delivery, I take it? Was she booked for admission to the GP unit?’
‘No. She was due to go to the hospital, it’s only her first, but she didn’t have time. I was hardly here myself! I’ve checked everything except the heartbeat, but I expect you’ll want to check her again.’
She was running on like a steam train! She shut her mouth with a little snap and stepped back.
Ed Latimer gave her a quizzical little look, then turned his attention to the peaceful baby. ‘OK. Sorry, little one, I’m going to wake you up.’ He looked round. ‘Where’s Mum?’
‘Gone to the loo. She’s very relaxed about it all.’
‘Not to mention hasty! What was the Apgar score?’
‘Ten,’ she replied promptly, glad to focus on the professional rather than the general. ‘She was very alert and vocal at birth, bright pink and flailing furiously!’
‘Excellent. No other problems, I take it, apart from the unseemly speed?’
‘No, everything was perfectly normal, just fast. Mum had the shakes afterwards, but that’s quite common with hasty deliveries.’
Jo watched him undress the tiny scrap, his big hands astonishingly gentle, his eyes scanning the baby for anything out of the ordinary. He checked the eyes, the ears, the mouth and nose, the fontanelles or soft spots on the head, both hands and feet, all the digits, then laid the baby face down over his palm and checked the spine with a big, blunt fingertip.
Then he checked her bottom to make sure that all necessary organs were present and correct, dropped her an inch onto the cot to test her Moro reflex and grunted in satisfaction as the baby flung her arms out and cried. She grasped his fingers and held on as he lifted her, and when he dangled her so her feet just touched the mattress she tried to walk.
‘Good girl. Now the bit you’ll hate. Sorry, poppet.’ He folded her little legs up, bent them up against her sides and wiggled them to check her hip joints.
Predictably she wailed, and he scooped her up and hugged her. ‘Sorry, little one,’ he murmured, cradling her against his chest. Just to get her revenge, she emptied her bladder down his shirt.
‘Well, that answers that question,’ he said with a grimace. ‘Her waterworks function.’
Jo laughed and, taking the baby from him, she put her into a nappy and laid her back into the cot so he could listen to her heart.
‘That’ll teach me to hug them when they’re naked,’ he said ruefully, blotting at his shirt with a paper towel.
‘At least she isn’t a boy. They always pee in your eye.’
He grinned at her, and once again her heart did that stupid thing.
Nuts.
She watched in silence as he checked the baby’s heart for any unusual sounds, and then he folded the stethoscope and tucked it back into his pocket, before dressing the little one again.
‘Can you manage?’ Jo asked, which earned her a wry look.
‘Why do you women think you’re the only ones who get to play with the new babies?’ he said softly, and turned his attention back to the little one in his hands. ‘Can I manage?’ he murmured. ‘The nerve of the woman! Just so cheeky, isn’t she? Yes!’
He was competent, she had to give him that. She wondered if there was a child in his life—or a partner not covered by the standard ‘single/married/widowed/divorced’ categories of the application form.
Very likely. He was the boy next door grown up, and if he was still single it was very odd.
Perhaps he had unspeakable habits after all?
Then he straightened and met her eyes, and there was something sad and lonely lurking in the depths of them—something that tugged at an echo in her heart. She wanted to reach out to him, to touch him, to ask what it was that made him sad, but before she could make a fool of herself there was a shuffling behind her, and a cheery voice said, ‘Hello, there. Everything all right?’
She turned, dragging her eyes from his, and smiled at the young woman in the tatty dressing-gown who climbed up onto the bed and sat down cautiously.
‘Hi, Angela. Fine—just a routine check on the baby. How are you feeling now?’
‘Oh, fine. Bit sore.’ She looked across at Ed and smiled. ‘You must be the new doctor.’
‘That’s me—Ed Latimer. Pleased to meet you. Congratulations on a perfect little baby. I’ve checked her over and she’s all present and correct—lovely. Well done.’ He took her hand in a firm grasp, and Angela Grigson turned to putty. She smiled and dimpled and went all silly, and Jo rolled her eyes and looked away.
The woman was happily married and had been for the past five years, and yet one look at their new GP and she went gaga only hours after the birth of her first child.
Jo predicted a massive rush of minor ailments at the surgery in the next few days, checking out the new doctor. The grapevine would be humming like a guitar string and nobody would be able to talk about anything else!
‘I told you he’d knock your socks off.’
‘He’s just a man.’
‘Pooh. He’s gorgeous.’
‘We’ve done this conversation for the past three days. Can’t anyone talk about anything else? I’m getting sick of hearing his name.’
‘Whose name?’
They both jumped guiltily and turned towards the door of the surgery kitchen. ‘Yours,’ Jo said, not bothering to lie. ‘Everyone in Yoxburgh is talking about you—and it’s only Monday. You’re the sole topic of conversation!’
He gave a short laugh. ‘I hope it’s good.’
‘So far you don’t seem to have irritated the dowagers or killed off their grandchildren so, yes, at the moment it’s good. You might blow it yet, of course, once you start doing a few more surgeries.’
He laughed. ‘Quite probably.’ He propped his lean hips against the worktop and looked hopefully at the kettle. ‘Any chance of a cup of tea?’
Sue scooted through the door. ‘I’m off on my visits. Jo’ll make you tea—she’s the resident mummy.’
He quirked a brow. ‘Resident mummy?’
Jo laughed a little awkwardly and flicked the button on the kettle. ‘I make them look after themselves